Circles
by Tragedy Tay
Summary: Too much in lust to say no. Too close to admitting it to speak. Gelphie, bookverse.


Title: Circles

Summary: _ Too much in lust to say no. Too close to admitting it to speak. _Gelphie, bookverse.

Rating: PG-13

A/N: For the Wicked fic exchange at livejournal. The prompt was _"Book 'verse. Gelphie, with a mention of Yackle or reference to her, prompt "circles"."_

- - -

It had been over two thoroughly uneventful weeks. Glinda's valise would almost have _stunk_, were it not for the small satchet of potpourri she had managed to scrounge from a street vendor. As it were, her remaining clothing had a definite sense of dankness about the folds and wrinkles, a feeling that Glinda herself had thus far never experienced, and was now thoroughly adamant about avoiding for the rest of her days.

Cruel, almost, this being in the Emerald City at last, but being with neither her best gowns nor the cash to recoup her losses.

And while she would not in a thousand years have stayed behind (at this point, she would follow Elphie wherever she may lead, leaving her to her lonesome is as unthinkable as chasing headlong after her may have been two summers ago. Glinda would never admit it, afraid as she was of losing both Elphaba's solely grudging respect and affections, as well as of giving her the slightest bit of leverage. Glinda is in danger of toppling already, falling headfirst into something that she cannot see the bottom of), her nerves were wearing thin.

- - -

_"Glinda," Elphie said one day, in a pinched sort of way. "Tell me, what do you think of Nessie's shoes?"_

_Glinda paused, her gaze remaining on the textbook that spread neatly over their laps, but her eyes stopped following the words. "They are lovely," she said, somewhat offhandedly, and she felt Elphaba slump down against her, an angular shoulder sliding down her arm. "She wears them far too much," she added, without skipping a beat._

_Elphaba's face split into a wide grin, warm and invasive, Glinda can feel the image sear itself into her mind before she has a chance to block it out. It's stranger even than Elphaba's skin, than Elphaba's mind. Elphaba's smile._

_"But then," Elphaba says, somewhat conspiratorially, "why shouldn't she? If they are that beautiful." She looks at Glinda in a way that she never had before, intense and begging. Wanting._

_"You don't understand fashion at _all_, my dear," Glinda said, leaning a bit closer than she normally would have dared._

- - -

Glinda holds Elphaba like a stuffed toy, she pushes warmth upon her, she insists it.

They chat, for Glinda wants this too, just sitting there rocking back and forth like a lunatic can't be good for the digestion, and they are sharing a bed after all. Glinda gets her going, and Elphie _will _go, on and on and on, but nothing dangerous, nothing political. Not here, in the Palace, they are not buffoons, or so they assure themselves in their own private ways. Instead, they natter on about which colors are preferable (Elphie admits a certain fondness for green that would surprise anyone else, but Glinda just nods, well aware of the looks Elphaba had given her that night she wore the dark-olive frock with the half-sleeves), professors they favored, anything. Nothing.

She pretends not to notice the way Elphaba is slowly drifting. The way that her eyes are far more than they are near. It can be forgotten, pushed away, because Elphaba is still near, she is right next to her. And if she keeps pressing, something will stick. Something will stay.

An imprint. It's all she can hope for now. For now.

- - -

_She had not wanted to be touched, she had wanted to touch (wanted to touch _her_), and so there was no reason to go to the club without Elphie. Intoxicated, yes, yes she was, her hand couldn't find her nose, but she knew what she wanted._

_It had been more clear that night than on any other, now that she had both seen death and been bewitched or destined or ensnared or whatever had happened to her that had made her feel those things, Elphaba's face connecting each image into one long, drawn-out fantasy._

_The alcohol was just making what had been lurking in the shadows for months now as clear as new glass._

_She wanted to touch Elphaba, and see where it might lead._

_Glinda was eighteen, drunk, different from before, and, at the least, beguiled. A combination that provided the means to the end._

_Too much in lust to say no. Too close to admitting it to speak._

_So utterly willing._

_"Lie down," Elphaba said, as Glinda's lips met her neck, tentative and wet. She laughed out loud, stopping at the stricken look on the pale face, the blood was gone, the warmth. Glinda was shivering, the only color left was in her lips, still so close, pouted and quivering._

_"You don't understand."_

_She shivered._

_There were some times when Elphaba couldn't stand to meet anyone's eyes. It made her feel altogether too human._

_"You don't understand at all."_

- - -

It seemed to Elphaba's unpracticed eye that Glinda was made entirely out of circles.

Her body, so often on display now that there was nowhere to keep modesty, now that they were pressed in rooms too small for a good round of belching, much less propriety, was nothing but round smoothness, baby fat that had yet to recede, yet with an undeniable sense of womanliness about it._ Look at me_, Glinda's skin seemed to roar,_ I am everything at once, everything you are not, will not, cannot. There is every age, every person, everything in me_.

Galinda becomes Glinda becomes Galinda becomes them both. Becomes _Elphaba_, as they are folded into one, once more.

Just once more.

It is more than can be borne, it is something being newly born.

She can sense the death of it, even so.

- - -

_"Oho, now you're in for a real treat, Fiyero, my boy," Crope had practically tittered once particularly rapturous day by the canal. Tibbett looked up at them from his book (the first Glinda had ever seen mar his palms, aside from the heavier volumes that had been tossed at his head at various instances), only to scowl briefly and duck his head crankily between musty pages once more._

_Glinda's fingers tightened themselves around Elphie's, who gave her a mischievous smirk in return._

_"Now now, none of this telekinesis you two are so damned fond of. Use your words, my lovelies, we have a guest whom I, for one," a pointed glower in Tibbet's direction, "would rather for once not scare off, if it is all the same to you."_

_Tibbett snorted. Crope, as always ignoring what he did not wish to be occurring at any given moment, said nothing, and merely slung an arm around Glinda and Elphaba's respective waists as though nothing had been harrumphed._

_"Here we have the ladies, lest you think us completely devoid of class. Misses Elphie and Glinda. Do not be fooled, sir," Crope stage-whispered after the handshaking had ceased, Elphaba and Glinda had taken their usual spot at the left-back corner of Boq's tattered old blanket, Elphie's legs stretched themselves lazily over Glinda's, and wine had been sloshed every which way: "Glinda is the boss."_

- - -

"Beautiful," croaked the woman as Glinda practically rejoiced over the sweet-smelling pouch of cloth Elphaba had bought for her, more to stop her whining than out of pity, smiling toothlessly in a way that sent a shiver like what anyone else would recognize as ice down the back down Elphaba's spine. "A beautiful girl."

The crone leaned closer, her breath reeking of rot and decay, the perfume of this city. "What in _hell _do you think you're doing?" she said, in a hiss that Glinda, even as she raced back to haul Elphie away, had no prayer of hearing.

Glinda really was quite too beautiful.

Elphaba squinted.

- - -

end.


End file.
